Karin Fossum - The Drowned Boy

“Yes, that’s right,” he said, almost reluctantly. “And yes, so you know, it is quick. It takes about five to ten seconds before they fall into a coma.”

She sat for a while thinking, digesting the information.

“But those seconds must be awful. Everything twisting. All that blood left in the head.”

“Yes,” he said. “Possibly. But we’ll never know, will we?”

“Do they go blue in the face? Do their tongues stick out of their mouths?”

“I haven’t seen Nicolai, so I can’t tell you.”

“Or you don’t want to,” she said curtly. “You want to protect me. Well, that’s fine by me. But if I want to see him, then no one can stop me. And if I want you to leave me alone, then you’ll leave me alone.”

“Of course,” he said, “but think hard before you do it. The image will haunt you for a long time to come. And the beautiful picture you have of Nicolai might be lost forever. Think about it before you sacrifice those happy memories. Where is your mother today? Are you alone?”

“Mom’s gone out,” she said. “But she’ll be back in an hour. Would you like me to make some coffee? Just say if you want some, and I’ll get it.”

Again, he declined the offer, observing her intently all the while. She was wearing a flowery top and three-quarter-length pants, and looked very pretty with her platinum hair and big eyes. All her life she had bathed in others’ admiration, looking in the mirror and admiring herself. It was as though she was always posing. He didn’t care much for it, but it was an attitude he had noticed with other girls too.

“This must be more than you can bear,” he said in a friendly voice. He struggled to overcome the edge of antipathy that he always felt in his meetings with Carmen.

“Yes, it’s enough now. But I want to find a new boyfriend. That’s if there’s anyone who wants me.”

She cocked her head when she said this. The statement caught him off guard. Was that really what she was thinking, a day after Nicolai had committed suicide: a new man?

“Carmen, really,” he said, smiling. “I don’t think you need to worry about things like that now.”

She smiled back. “Good, that’s all I wanted to hear,” she clucked. Then they both laughed a short burst of liberating laughter, despite all the sadness.

“Will you be using the same funeral directors?”

“Yes, we’ve got an appointment with them this evening. They’re coming around at seven. We’ve told them what happened; it was Dad who told them. You know what, they took it well, because they have to. We’re going to tell the truth in the church, that it was suicide. I’m sure that’s what Nicolai would have wanted. He didn’t like sweeping things under the rug. You might not know it, but I really did love him.”

“I believe you,” Sejer said. Then he asked: “Did you notice anything in the days before? When he left the house yesterday evening?”

“I’ve known there was something wrong ever since Tommy died,” she said. “He’s not been himself since. He was really down in Majorca, didn’t care about anything. Just moped around, chain-smoked, and drank whiskey. I couldn’t get through to him. So I was very worried. But I wasn’t that surprised really. Nicolai is very reserved and always has been. And I often worried what he might do.”

“Do you know where he went yesterday?”

“No, I’ve got no idea. I suppose he just drove around in the Golf. He might have gone down to Stranda. I went to bed about midnight and fell asleep right away. When I realized that he hadn’t slept in the bed, I got really worried. I’m so glad that it was Dad who found him, so at least I didn’t get the worst shock.”

She picked at the scuffed pink nail polish on one of her nails.

“He didn’t go to Stranda,” Sejer told her. “He came to see me. I found him on the stairs around midnight.”

“What?” She opened her eyes wide.

“He came to tell me something important; it wasn’t a long visit.”

“Something important?” she repeated and looked confused. “What was it?”

“I can’t tell you. But I’m taking it very seriously.”

“But what did you talk about?”

“Well, he was worried about the court case. And then we talked a bit about you and your last statement.”

She pouted, as though she was sulking. “Yes, Nicolai was furious that I told the truth. But that’s always best, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I agree. So, Carmen, how will your life be without Nicolai?”

“Well, I’ll just have to make it work, won’t I? And Dad will do everything he can to help me.”

“And how is your epilepsy? Are you managing to control it?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “It’ll always be there. But I’ve just had a major seizure, so at least I know it’ll be some time until the next one. But generally, it’s OK as long as I remember to take my pills. Dad keeps an eye on me, because I sometimes forget. And by the way, it’s Mom who tends Tommy’s grave. She thinks it’s better for me not to go. She’s planted some ivy and it’s growing nicely.”

“I know,” Sejer said. “I’ve been up there. And you’ve got Friis as your lawyer,” he added. “He’ll look after you well; he’s good. Be honest with him and he’ll do all he can to help you.”

“He says that I should be cleared,” she said, “because everything that’s happened is so terrible. Because I was mentally incapacitated. After the epileptic fit I wasn’t thinking straight. I thought I had to cover it up. He’s already spoken to my physician. And I’m not worried about the case; I’m going to manage it. Say hello to Skarre for me. He’s nice but he does go on a bit.”

He promised he would and asked her to take care of herself. Then he got up from the sofa and walked toward the door. She followed him and then grabbed his arm and grasped it as tight as she could.

“I’m going to tell you something,” she said, “something you might not know.”

“OK.”

He continued into the hall and started to open the front door.

“Over sixty percent of fetuses with Down syndrome are aborted; they’re never born. People don’t want to have them.”

He stopped and looked her in the eye. He was rather horrified by the statement; six out of ten Down children, he thought — was that really true? And he wondered what people with Down syndrome thought of the statistic. That they shouldn’t be here at all, that lots of people wouldn’t want them, that they were a burden?

“Why are you telling me that?” he asked as he opened the door.

“I just wanted you to know,” she said. “And I think I deserve sympathy, because no one understands how hard it is to have a child like that.”

He went out onto the step and turned and put his hand on her arm.

“Yes,” he said with a smile. “You have all my sympathy. But no one gets what they deserve in this life. Please take good care of yourself. And no matter what you might think, I wish you well.” Then he said goodbye and went to his car. He saw her still standing on the step as he drove away.

Nineteenth of October. Rain.

The sky was dark and threatening on the day Nicolai was laid to rest in Møller Church, and they had to battle pelting rain, wind, and fog. Trees and bushes, flags and sails were tossed around as the rain bucketed down. A modest gathering of neighbors and friends, colleagues from Zita Quick, and uncles from Barcelona followed him to the grave, which lay beside Tommy’s under the birch trees. As they came out of the church and were about to walk down the stone path to the gaping grave, the rain intensified. But the priest remained unperturbed, even though the wind tore angrily at his vestments, revealing his spindly legs and worn-out shoes. He continued on determinedly toward his destination as was expected of him, his neck bowed in humble prayer. Carmen sought shelter behind her father’s broad back and sang the last psalm as best she could. “ Abide with me, fast falls the eventide. ”